[ The laugh that near-immediate answer gets out of her is almost, almost a bitter note, sharp in a way that says the honesty was unnecessary, that it cut deep and so clean it had yet to start bleeding, but eventually the body would catch up to the trauma suffered. She's reeled herself back in, at least, and he's trying so hard to remain steady— to her touch as well as because of it, and a day should never have come that he would dread her hands.
Because yes, he has done a poor job distancing himself from her and likely the others, but that also meant he remembered them all. Wished to protect them all, forcing them away to keep his identity hidden and... Well, she doesn't need to chase that rabbit just yet. She imagines they'll get around to it, just as easily as she imagines she'll get over the throb of her heart when he doesn't respond to her touch or her grief, when he won't even raise his eyes and look at her properly.
It's made easier by the fact that his shoulders slump with shame rather than ire, that he isn't rejecting her; accepting it because he has no energy otherwise and he's tired. How long has it been since he's offered anyone comfort? Been offered comfort? Since he's touched or been touched? If she thinks on it too long she'll bring herself back down, so she has to compartmentalize and set it aside.
There's a soft little sniffle and she's retracting a hand just long enough to swipe at her eyes, and her composure has returned. She supports him with an arm across his shoulders and neck cradled as she bears his weight, murmuring soft reassurances as his chest heaves and she can't tell if it's pain or panic or both, and her hand settles against the white hair along his sternum to ground him, feel his breathing and his heart rate likely skyrocketing. ]
Count your breaths for me, Jack, and try to relax. We'll talk after.
[ Angela doesn't think much of anything of him, as he may be now. Try as he might, no matter what he's done or how he's behaved since their arrival, he's still an important man in her life and he's cemented himself with the highest of accolades, and it would take far more than a few non-lethal break-ins and some thrown punches to drag him down. A clinical eye can nearly pick apart his diet and lifestyle changes, but her heart isn't nearly so harsh. Her thumb brushes over his skin to the time of his breathing and she very clearly has no issue touching him, thinking nothing of it. There's no hesitation now that he's complying, no negative reaction from him resulting in any from her. It's just that simple. She'll at least try to wait until he's calmed further to get started, but she can't entirely wait him out on this. ]
I'm going to get started now, all right? Keep counting.
[ She re-sanitizes her hands via gel and pulls on her gloves, turning away only for a moment before she's back and peeling away the gauze at the gouge in his stomach, tucking towels in place to pour in a wash and flush the wound, stinging as it eats at bacteria and works out ash and debris, fabric fibers— then she flushes that with water, and she pulls the lamp closer for inspection. There's the tell-tale sheen of nanites rich in his system, and even if she'd had her staff on hand, it wouldn't do her any good. They've done as much as they could for him already and repaired most of his organ damage, but there's still some bleeding. It's slow-going, but healing, and she'll help it along with a few supportive meshes she places carefully, stoppering what little trickle still seeped through the perforations.
Angela is as quick as ever, because there's no sedating or anesthetizing him on short notice without properly preparing the right doses— and that would take her hours. They didn't have it, so he'll just have to grit his teeth and know she's doing her best to be gentle and not cause him pain as she works. It's still there, still agonizing— but she eases as much as she can. ]
no subject
[ The laugh that near-immediate answer gets out of her is almost, almost a bitter note, sharp in a way that says the honesty was unnecessary, that it cut deep and so clean it had yet to start bleeding, but eventually the body would catch up to the trauma suffered. She's reeled herself back in, at least, and he's trying so hard to remain steady— to her touch as well as because of it, and a day should never have come that he would dread her hands.
Because yes, he has done a poor job distancing himself from her and likely the others, but that also meant he remembered them all. Wished to protect them all, forcing them away to keep his identity hidden and... Well, she doesn't need to chase that rabbit just yet. She imagines they'll get around to it, just as easily as she imagines she'll get over the throb of her heart when he doesn't respond to her touch or her grief, when he won't even raise his eyes and look at her properly.
It's made easier by the fact that his shoulders slump with shame rather than ire, that he isn't rejecting her; accepting it because he has no energy otherwise and he's tired. How long has it been since he's offered anyone comfort? Been offered comfort? Since he's touched or been touched? If she thinks on it too long she'll bring herself back down, so she has to compartmentalize and set it aside.
There's a soft little sniffle and she's retracting a hand just long enough to swipe at her eyes, and her composure has returned. She supports him with an arm across his shoulders and neck cradled as she bears his weight, murmuring soft reassurances as his chest heaves and she can't tell if it's pain or panic or both, and her hand settles against the white hair along his sternum to ground him, feel his breathing and his heart rate likely skyrocketing. ]
Count your breaths for me, Jack, and try to relax. We'll talk after.
[ Angela doesn't think much of anything of him, as he may be now. Try as he might, no matter what he's done or how he's behaved since their arrival, he's still an important man in her life and he's cemented himself with the highest of accolades, and it would take far more than a few non-lethal break-ins and some thrown punches to drag him down. A clinical eye can nearly pick apart his diet and lifestyle changes, but her heart isn't nearly so harsh. Her thumb brushes over his skin to the time of his breathing and she very clearly has no issue touching him, thinking nothing of it. There's no hesitation now that he's complying, no negative reaction from him resulting in any from her. It's just that simple. She'll at least try to wait until he's calmed further to get started, but she can't entirely wait him out on this. ]
I'm going to get started now, all right? Keep counting.
[ She re-sanitizes her hands via gel and pulls on her gloves, turning away only for a moment before she's back and peeling away the gauze at the gouge in his stomach, tucking towels in place to pour in a wash and flush the wound, stinging as it eats at bacteria and works out ash and debris, fabric fibers— then she flushes that with water, and she pulls the lamp closer for inspection. There's the tell-tale sheen of nanites rich in his system, and even if she'd had her staff on hand, it wouldn't do her any good. They've done as much as they could for him already and repaired most of his organ damage, but there's still some bleeding. It's slow-going, but healing, and she'll help it along with a few supportive meshes she places carefully, stoppering what little trickle still seeped through the perforations.
Angela is as quick as ever, because there's no sedating or anesthetizing him on short notice without properly preparing the right doses— and that would take her hours. They didn't have it, so he'll just have to grit his teeth and know she's doing her best to be gentle and not cause him pain as she works. It's still there, still agonizing— but she eases as much as she can. ]